Anticipation
by xdepthsofdespair
Summary: Dean sold his soul to save his brother. Now he's in Hell and a demon of torture. A Supernatural One-Shot. WARNING: Rated M for torture, violence, and language. Mature audiences only.


Author's Note: I know I still have an ongoing story (which will be updated soon), but I've decided to try a one-shot. WARNING: This story does have some torture and language. Mature audiences only.

Also, a review with thoughts and opinions would be very appreciated. Thank you and enjoy!

* * *

_Do you wanna know what my favorite part is? Of torturing, I mean. It's that look in their eyes—that moment of anticipation which I assume feels like an eternity of a wait, before I begin carving into their flesh as though they were a block of clay and I? I am the sculptor. With each plunge my blade makes into their flesh, I can tear and create my own personal masterpiece. That look in their eyes is a reminder of what is yet to come. Once the wait is over and I begin my work of art, my next favorite part would have to be the screams—the musical melody of endless hours of torture of pain. I am an artist. I am a composer._  
_**I am your worst** ** nightmare**._

* * *

_**Then.**_

Dean was never given a fair chance. Let's face the facts: his brother died and he was an utter wreck. And as a means to save his brother from Death's permanent grasp, he made a deal with the Devil; maybe not _the_ Devil, but close enough. The moment he sold his soul in order to bring Sam back to life, Dean Winchester was robbed of the normal deal of ten years before his soul would be collected; instead, he was given one last year to live. And in that last year of life granted to him, he lived it as wild, reckless, and without a damn in the world as he could. But then his time was up. The hallucinations and paranoia began. Bullshit on top of more bullshit. And then he was mauled to death, right before his little brother's very eyes.

As with all deals in which you sell your soul, Dean was brought straight down to Hell. The first thing Dean was aware of were the human-sized meat hooks penetrating his flesh as he was held suspended in mid-air. Everything was dark. Everything was... eerie. And Dean was in _pain_. But that was nothing compared to the pain he would be feeling in a few mere moments when the demon known as Alastair, the _Picasso with a Razor_,would begin the tearing him a new one and introducing him to the art of torture.

This would go on for thirty years. Dean would experience immeasurable amounts of pain. His insides would be ripped right out of him as he yelled out in agony, forced to watch and feel everything that was taking place. And the worst part was the fact that he couldn't be put out of his misery; he couldn't die _again_.

After each day that he was tortured, it appeared that Hell had a sense of humor. As if there was a _reset_ button that existed, Dean would be fixed up to be brand spankin' new all over again, all ready for the next day's session. And each time when Dean was fixed up once more, he would be asked a question. One simple question that all he would have to do was give the correct answer and he'd be free of this Damnation and move onto bigger and better things in Hell. But Dean had a nasty habit of saying _no_.

But thirty years is a long time in Hell. Thirty years could take its toll over a poor unfortunate soul. On the eve of his thirtieth anniversary in Hell, Dean was asked this question, as per usual. But this time, he didn't glare at Alastair and spit in the demon's face. He didn't throw out swears and vulgarities. This time, Dean Winchester's answer had changed.

"Yes."

And so, the righteous man had fallen.

* * *

_**Now.**_

"Y'know, Dean-o, I knew you'd be a handful the moment your ass landed here in Hell. Never once in history, has a crusade of Angels dared to enter our domain. But ten years ago when Hell was breached by those feathered freaks, it all had to do with you," Alastair spoke in that nasal tone of his as his eyes locked on Dean's. "Hell wants you. Angels want you. I've always wondered what was so damn special about you. It never dawned on me just what it could be until I saw you first pick up a blade and gutted that filthy wench." His lips twisted into a wicked grin momentarily until they parted and emitted the sound of laughter that filled the halls of Hell.

Dean and Alastair had been surveying their empire from a higher level, watching as rooms became filled with souls and the demons who would shortly be torturing them. With his hands holding onto a rail, Dean peered down over everything he had grown to love over the past couple of decades. "You flatter me, Alastair. But we all know that day held nothing but bloodshed. We lost many good demons." Dean's eyes went completely black at that moment, his head inclining as he turned to face his mentor. "Good thing you have amazing apprentices like myself, eh?"

Alastair's grin diminished as he took on a more serious demeanor. When he spoke, his words came out in volume barely above a whisper. "You are unlike any other demon I've created, Dean-o."

* * *

"Please..." She whimpered, tears streaming down her dirty face as her blue hues pleaded with him to stop. "I'm sorry! I tried to be a good person! I did! I don't belong here!" As she spoke and begged for him to stop, her voice increased in pitch.

But this didn't hinder Dean from continuing his work. "Shh, shh." Touching a bloodied finger to her lips, he began to trace them; naturally, this caused her to shut up for she didn't want the taste of her own blood in her mouth. The tears never ended and she whimpered even more. But at least she was silenced for just a moment as Dean's eyes glanced over his naked canvas. She had slash marking in various locations of her body. However, Dean had not yet begun to pierce into her flesh.

Walking away from the seat from which she was strapped, Dean headed for the silver cart that held all sorts of his favorite weapons and toys. His digits wrapped around the hilt of one he had grown very fond of. "I just want you to know..." He began, his tone mocking in a singsong manner as he continued, "I've had so much fun with you. But you see... I think it's time for us to take things to the next level. I know this is our first date and all, but I've never been one to not go for second and third base anyway."

Hysteria was in her eyes. The fear, the panic... it was the single most beautiful look he had ever witnessed in all of his existence. He silently vowed in that moment that he would make her give that look to him each and every day... for _eternity_.

Lifting the blade from the silver tray, he smirked as he dragged his feet across the ground. That look. The anticipation. _Anticipation_. Those tears. The sound of her stifled sobs. His grin grew wider and as he showed her the long blade with the jagged edge, he was given what he craved for all along—the scream that resounded all around, echoing within the room and down the halls.

And then the blade was driven into her abdomen as he sliced her open, as though he were performing an autopsy. She cried. She screamed. She watched with wide and fearful eyes. Dean reached inside of her. His fingers wrapped around her heart, lifting it from her chest cavity as he held it before her very eyes. And then he smiled—the kind of smile one would see a pleasant schoolboy giving his crush. "You're giving me your heart? Oh... you shouldn't have."

* * *

They say, "Do unto others, as you wish to be done unto you". Whether people still live by that is questionable. But the thing is, for a couple of decades Dean had done so much wrong unto others. The moment he had said _yes_ to becoming Alastair's apprentice, he gave himself over to the beginning steps of becoming a demon. This was a process that would continuously carry on over the years as Dean tortured soul after damned soul.

He never _anticipated_ that one day he would lower his guard too much. And as a consequence of doing so, the female he currently had been abusing and battering for his own pleasure would win one over him.

He never asked Blue Eyes what her name was. Then again, he never asked any of them their names. There was no need for it. They were just unfortunate souls. They were beneath him. They were just toys.

Blue Eyes had had enough of being tortured by Dean Winchester. After five years, she couldn't bear it any longer. As Dean's guard had dropped—in this case, his pants, as he decided to take his pleasure up a whole new height, she managed to slip one of her wrists free from the leather restraints holding her down to her seat. Quickly stealing the blade from atop her abdomen where Dean had left it, she swiped and managed to get Dean across his brow and cheek. Taken by surprise, Dean reached up to cover his face, grunting as he felt pain for the first time in over twenty years. With wild eyes full of anger, he made to move for her.

Unfortunately for him, he was unaware of the fact that she managed to cut herself free and he missed her as she hopped from the chair. With every ounce of strength left in her, plunged the blade into his own gut. Hunching over as blood droplets sputtered, from his mouth with a cough, Dean never anticipated that he would soon meet the ground after having various sharp tools meet his spine.

Blue Eyes was a smart one. And with the single press of a button on the wall, souls were released from the cages they were imprisoned in, pouring out into the halls and various torture chambers throughout the depths of Hell. An uprising had taken place and the torturers were now becoming the tortured.

Before long, a few of his own victims managed to find their way to his torture chamber. Dozens of faces stared back at him as he sat within the same seat he'd once had them strapped to. Except this time, he was strapped down by his arms and legs. His eye was swollen with a black and blue tint. His lip was busted and bleeding. His hands were missing, the bones showing from where his wrists would be. And he knew there was more in store from him, just by the looks of all the faces glaring at him.

Dean Winchester never anticipated to one day be strapped down to a chair, tortured in the most heinous of ways, when he sold his soul to save the life of his brother.

_**el fin.  
**_


End file.
